The Burrow wasn’t meant to be this quiet. Not with everyone alive. Not after that war.

But it was.

You stood in the kitchen, knuckles white around the edge of the table. Molly moved behind you, fussing with a kettle, trying to give you space while still doing something. The silence around you buzzed loud enough to drown out thought. Every breath felt heavier than it should’ve.

You had cast a protection charm. One of the old ones, almost forgotten, whispered into existence with trembling hands when you saw the tunnel crumbling. It should’ve taken him. It almost did.

You saved him. But something else slipped through your fingers.

The miscarriage came just hours before. Early—but real. Enough to twist something in your chest that wouldn’t come undone. Molly had been there. Held your hand through the worst of it. And now, everyone knew. You could feel it in the way no one asked if you were alright. Like they already knew the answer.

The door creaked open.

Fred.

He looked exhausted. Dusted with soot and heartbreak, like the war had followed him home. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you. And when they did, you looked up—and the ache must have shown on your face.

He took one step forward, confusion setting in. “Love—?”

Molly whispered his name behind you.

You shook your head, barely.